


Eleven Ornaments Hanging

by spikesgirl58



Series: The Twelve Fics of Christmas [11]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 00:48:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2832122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya is recuperating and not very happy about Napoleon's care and comfort until he realizes what it's masking.</p><p>Napoleon can't understand why Illya just isn't getting it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eleven Ornaments Hanging

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grey853](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey853/gifts).



“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” It was a bold faced lie, but I was good at them. Waverly once told me that my ability to lie was one of my major assets and he should know. He’s the King of Lies.

“Illya, be reasonable.” My partner wasn’t buying it. “You can’t even pour yourself a glass of water.

That part was true and I had the damp pajamas to attest to it. Having both hands in casts was proving an inconvenience. I’d somehow managed to convince the medical staff to release me into Napoleon’s care. I just hadn’t anticipated his reaction.

“I’m not an invalid,” I tried another approach.

“I agree, so feel free to move around the apartment as you see fit. If there’s anything else you need from your apartment, let me know.”

“What is left?” I was tucked into his guestroom at his penthouse, a goodly amount of my worldly possessions, of which there are few, surrounded me. He’d even hauled over my record player and records. This bespoke of a long internment.

“I just want you to have what you need.”

I just needed a little time to lick my wounds and heal. At least Napoleon’s place was not the white, sterile walls of Medical. The staff tried to brighten the place up for the upcoming Christmas season, but it didn’t help. There was a large decorated tree in the front room with piles of presents from Napoleon’s admirers beneath it.   The longer I stayed in this country, the worst it got. This was my eleventh Christmas here and every year I hoped for the ultimate gift. Every year I was sorely disappointed.

“I just need to be left alone.” Tears prickling my eyes, I rolled over to make my point and, after a moment, I heard him leave. The light blinked out and the door softly closed. He would never know what I truly needed.  

****

There are times when my partner can be a royal pain in my backside. Shutting the door, I walked into the living room and stopped in front of the fire. Outside, the snow was making life unbearable for anyone who needed to be anywhere. I was thankful I didn’t. Aunt Amy was out of town for the holidays, a rare thing in itself. It meant I was on my own.

That didn’t mean there weren’t dozens of young ladies all ready to appear on my arm, but to be honest, I was growing tired of the charade. I went through the motions because it was expected of me, but my heart was no longer in it. Sadly, it was all tied up in a sarcastic bundle of blond hair and bad temper.

I put another log on the fire and checked my supply. I had enough to last the night and even possibly the next morning, but I would need to go down to the basement and raid my stockpile. One of the perks of having a penthouse apartment meant a storage locker in the basement. Most would fill it with treasures and rare finds. I had wood in mine. I had no need for antiques or baubles. The furniture come with the place and it would stay when I left. The bed was mine as far as furniture went and that was about it. As an agent, it paid to be unencumbered.

I poured myself a scotch and settled back to study my tree. Mrs. Hobart had outdone herself this year. Each ornament had been placed just so. Each one told a story, not always a good one, but a story none the less.

What to do with my partner? You see, just between you, me, and a very exhausted bedpost, there was only one person I wanted to be with and right now, he was having a hissy fit in my guest bedroom.  

One of the ornaments, a dull silver ball with the faint markings of a star on it, spun in an invisible wind.

“I wish I may, I wish I might…” I let it trail off for I knew in my heart of hearts that what I wanted would never be. Illya just wasn’t that sort of guy.

“What do you wish?”

I looked around, startled. Illya was standing there, looking a little lost in the robe I’d left him.

“You can’t tell or it won’t come true.” It was a stall, but it was a good stall. “What are you doing up?”

****

After a few minutes of tossing and turning, the truth crawled up my throat and stuck there sideways. Napoleon had permitted me an escape from Medical. He’d opened his home to me and I’d given him back a lapful of attitude. That might be fine for a THRUSH, but not for one’s partner.

Closing my eyes, I could see Mama shaking her finger at me.

The casts threw off my center of gravity and made sitting up a bit of a challenge. Napoleon was right, of course. I could barely pee without help and taking a bath or shower was a major undertaking. The last one had left me exhausted for hours and that had been with the nurses’ help.

I finally got upright and found the robe Napoleon had left for me. It was big on him and enormous on me. Still, it fit over my casts and with just my fingertips sticking out, I looked fairly normal.

Foregoing slippers, as I loved the feel of Napoleon thick soft carpet beneath my bare feet, I walked to the door and got it opened. If there was a fire here tonight, I would not be in a good position.

Walking into the living room, I saw Napoleon silhouetted against the night sky. The falling snow caught the draft of the street below and seemed to be falling up. It was going to be a miserable night out. There was even the likelihood that we would lose power before this was over with. A blizzard for Christmas Eve, now that’s planning.

Napoleon was staring at his tree, a beautiful thing of ornaments, tinsel and lights. I didn’t know when he’d had the time to do this. It seemed as if he’d spent most of it at Medical with me.

Another twinge cut my gut. It just wasn’t fair. You weren’t supposed to be in love with your partner.   Don’t even add in the fact that this is the famous womanizer, Napoleon Solo. Talk about a _Sisyphus task._

He was rocking slightly and focused upon a single ornament. It spun in an invisible wind, probably created by the fireplace

 _“I wish I may, I wish I might,”_ I heard him murmured.

“What do you wish?” Such was his focus upon the ornament that he had no idea I was there. He nearly jumped out of his skin and I was lucky his weapon and holster hung by the front door.

“You can’t tell or it won’t come true. What are you doing up?”

I hung my head a little and gave him my best sheepishly look. “I came to apologize. You’ve been nothing less than gracious and I’ve been a heel.”

“Not really. You’ve just been yourself on a bad day.” Napoleon patted the couch beside him and I sat down, eyeing his glass of alcohol wantonly. “Are you on any pain killers?”

“Please.” I held up my plaster-encased arms. “For this? Now some anti-itching medicine… something like that I would happily kill for.” The truth was the dull ache in my hands was giving me a headache. I desperately wanted something to kill it or at least lessen it.

Napoleon studied me for a minute and then stood. “Okay, but just one, in keeping with the season and all. Have a seat.”

I stared at his tree while he headed for the wet bar. He carried the decanter and a glass back to me and held the latter out. With a concentrated effort, I managed to grasp it with both hands. I felt as if I was a year old and just learning to use a cup again. I didn’t spill much of it. Napoleon watched me, but didn’t say anything, for which I was grateful.

The scotch warmed my stomach and I felt like smiling for the first time in days.

“Are you in very much pain?”

“More than I like.” I didn’t want to lie to Napoleon, since we both knew the truth, but I wasn’t over quickly changing the subject. “Your tree is pretty.”

“Mrs. Hobart did a nice job, didn’t she?” He settled in beside me.

“Hobart?”

“My housekeeper. You don’t think I’d have time to do this? Not and keep the nurses and their sponges at bay.”

“A man can only take so many sponges baths.” I drained my glass and it was mercifully refilled. I held out for a minute, letting the alcohol settle in my stomach. It had been a long time since I’d had a drink and I had no desire to get drunk. “Which one is your favorite?”

“All of them, for one reason or another.” Napoleon pointed to a pale blue ball. It was so old it was nearly white. “That was the ornament my father gave my mother on their first Christmas together. Check out the fake snow he sprayed it with. The stuff is like glue.” Napoleon laughed and I joined it, for no other reason than it made me happy to see him happy.

“What about that one?” I clumsily pointed to a crudely shaped star.

“First grade. I was so proud of it. Cutting with scissors was never my strong point.” He pointed to a crocheted icicle. “My mom crocheted that and that straw snowflake my sister made one year.”

“And the four birds ornament?”   The gold, silver, green and red birds all perched close to each other.

“We all have a set. They are supposed to represent my parents, my sister and me. Even if we can’t be together in person, we are through the birds.”

“That’s nice.” I was getting a little sleepy, but managed to swallow my yawn. “What about ‘our first Christmas’?”

“That’s a mistake. Mrs. Hobart shouldn’t have used it. My wife gave it to me. She was dead two weeks later.” His voice grew soft and I knew he was hurting. I reached out and touched his arm, sharing a sad smile with him. We both knew what loss was.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. If it hadn’t been for her death, I never would have joined UNCLE or met you. And I lied.”

“About what?”

“I do have a favorite.” He stood up and lifted a bell from his tree. The top was blue onion domed with white stars. The bottom was made of four rings, green, red, yellow and blue, each one decorated. “Do you remember this?”

“I do. I gave you that the first year we were partnered.” I also knew that its mate was tucked safely away in my bureau at home.

“It was the first thing you ever gave me.”

“Besides a loan every other payday.” I leaned close to Napoleon. This time I didn’t hide my yawn. Two glasses of scotch and I was rapidly slipping into the land of Winkin, Blinkin and Nod.  Napoleon’s couch wasn’t any help; it was insidious in its comfort. I felt relaxed for the first time in weeks.

 

                                                                        ****

I knew Illya wasn’t going to be able to take much alcohol. First, he was still recovering from his time at the THRUSH Hilton and he’d lost a few pounds there. Add that to his lack of sleep and the meds, well, giving him a drink might not have been the wisest move, but he needed it.

And I needed him. More than he would ever know. If giving him a drink meant that he’d stay and share a few moments with me on Christmas Eve, then to hell with common sense.

Of course, I wasn’t stupid and made sure the drinks weren’t large. He didn’t complain. He seemed happy with what I gave him.

He nursed the first one and we talked about the ornaments. The truth was that the ornament he gave me wasn’t the prettiest, most expensive or unusual, but it held a special spot in my heart.

“It was the first thing that I didn’t have to pay back.” I poured myself a second round of scotch and waited for his comeback. What I got was a soft snore instead. “I always knew you couldn’t hold your liquor, my boy.”

I pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over his shoulders. He looked so comfortable nestled down among the cushions and pillow that I decided to join him. I put my feet up on the coffee table, after toeing off my shoes, of course, and settled in, still staring at the tree.

All those memories. Some were sad, some were happy, but they are all mine and that’s saying something in my line of work. I finished my drink and set the glass aside. Outside I could hear the rush of the wind as it raced up the side of the building. It was going to be miserable out tomorrow. Thankfully I had no place to go.

Illya murmured in his sleep and seemed to be struggling with an unseen foe. I shushed him and he rested his head against my shoulder. If only in his waking hours he’d show me such attention. I supposed it was my own fault, though. I played the womanizer too successfully.

“If only you knew how I felt, Illya. If only I knew how you felt,” I murmured and chance giving him a kiss to his forehead.

Shivering just a bit, I grabbed a corner of Illya’s blanket and claimed it as my own. He wasn’t going to care, not the way he was snoring. I settled in beside him and let sleep claim me.

                                                                        ****

The problem with THRUSH is that the memories linger far after the affair is done. I was relieving something, I couldn’t even tell you what when Napoleon’s voice came to me, calming and soft. Then I felt pressure against me and the unmistakable scent of his aftershave. For a moment, and just this once, I let him take my burden and relaxed against him.

“If only you knew how I felt, Illya. If only I knew how you felt.” Did I hear that or just imagine it? Then I felt the kiss and I very nearly sat up to throw my arms around him. That would not be keeping with appearances or our very nature.

I dozed off again, happy to have him near. The next time I woke, the room was in total darkness with the exception of the fire. Even it had burned down to a red glow. I felt cramped and my bladder was about to explode.

“Napoleon?” I shrugged my shoulder and after a moment, I heard a muffled “Hmmm?”

“The lights are out.”

“Then I won’t be held accountable for my actions.”

“If I urinate all over your couch, I’ll be held responsible for mine.”

That woke him up sufficiently enough for me to untangle myself and struggle to my feet.

The trip to the bathroom was a bit chilly, but not too bad. I’m guessing the power must have been out for about an hour.

Napoleon greeted me by the bathroom door and we swapped places. I thought about stoking the fire, but nixed the idea and started to walk towards the guest room just as Napoleon came out.

“Where are you going?”

“To bed. It’s going to be cold in here very soon.” I looked at him and in the near dark, I could swear he was flirting with me. Okay, then, perhaps I would stoke a different fire. “Of course, I’ve heard tremendous thing about conserving body heat by sleeping together.”

And that’s where this story both ends and begins. It was the first Christmas we spent together in each other’s arms, but not the last. What more fitting ending does a story have?

                                                                        ****

I thought I’d died when I heard Illya suggest we sleep together. It wouldn’t be the first time we’d shared a bed, but the circumstances were different.

“And exactly what are you suggesting, Mr. Kuryakin?”

“You got a good imagination. You’ll think of something.”

“Are you planning on attacking me?”

“Only if you play your cards right.” There was a playfulness in his voice that I’d had on a few occasions prior, but this wasn’t play. I’d never had so much at stake. If I was wrong, I’d lose it all.

Every time I look at my current Christmas tree and see a certain ornament, now joined by a second, I smile and think back to a joyful Christmas Eve, a lack of power and a different meeting of the minds, along with other things. I remember those first clumsy attempts, the jockeying for dominance between us, and the eventual middle ground we found, with great affection. George Bailey was right. It is a wonderful life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
